


And They Lived Happily Ever After

by SpaceIdiot



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comfort, Crowley and Aziraphale live together in a cottage, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Canon, Romantic Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, asexual love story, non-sexual nudity, some homophobia, warm baths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 10:58:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21269933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceIdiot/pseuds/SpaceIdiot
Summary: 15 years after the averted apocalypses, Crowley and Aziraphale live together in a cottage in the country. Crowley has a rough encounter with some homophobes, and Aziraphale knows the perfect way to comfort him.





	And They Lived Happily Ever After

**Author's Note:**

> I personally see Crowley and Aziraphale as asexual and in love, and that's how I wrote the fic, but honestly it's up to you what you think lol

It had been 15 years since the apocalypse had been averted. Things were progressing very nicely. Shadwell and Madam Tracy had married and were having far too much fun. Anathema and Newton Palsifer were living together in a cottage and had two children, Adam and Newton Jr. Pepper had a girlfriend and was in politics; Brian ran an ice cream shop and had three cats and a bearded dragon; Wenslydale had gone vegan, and was an accountant in London. Adam, well, of course Adam still lived in Tadfield, with Dog, who still looked and acted remarkably young for being roughly 16-years-old, and did no one was quite sure what, but seemed remarkably happy. His parents also had been blessed with remarkably good luck, and had moved to France after winning the lottery. He visited them twice a year, and taught them how to use FaceTime so they could communicate easier.  
Aziraphale and Crowley - things had gone very well for them as well. Both Crowley’s lavish apartment and Aziraphale’s bookshop still stood where they always had, but no one lived in them anymore. Very shortly after the averted apocalypse, a beautiful cottage in the country suddenly came up for sale, and was bought by a wealthy bookshop owner, a Mr. A. Z. Fell. Within a few days, it was furnished beautifully, had a luscious garden, and a large library. The neighbors wondered about the soft blond dandy and his read-headed goth boyfriend, and how remarkably well they had aged, but no one was brave enough to say anything much to them. Perhaps it was the bees which seemed to dive bomb every single person who tried to enter through the front gate, no matter the season, or perhaps it was not. No one really knew.  
Aziraphale looked up from his book and took off his glasses.  
"Good afternoon, dear," he said as Crowley swung open the front door of their cottage. All he got in response was a frustrated grunt. Aziraphale watched his love as he sauntered over to the bar and grabbed an entire bottle of wine, subsequently flopping down on a large maroon armchair by the fire.  
"Here now," he said, as Crowley uncorked the bottle with his teeth and began to drink. "What's wrong with you?"  
"Fucking small town, small-minded idiots," he hissed.  
Aziraphale put this book and glasses on the side table. He was pretty sure he knew what was going on. For the past few months, Crowley had been going to church for short periods of time to try to build up an immunity to consecrated ground so that they could get married in a church. The local priest was remarkably open minded, but not all of his parish was so modern.  
"Tell me what happened," he said gently.  
Crowley took another gulp of wine, making a face. "They're lucky the priest was watching or I would have scared the shit out of every one of them!" He was silent a moment. Aziraphale waited for him to gather his thoughts. He knew if he spoke now, Crowley would try to use it as an excuse to change the subject. "I was sitting in a pew," he said, "Giving my feet a break. I couldn't help but chat a bit to Her. I was in a bloody church after all!"  
"Perfectly reasonable," Aziraphale responded.  
“We were having a bit of a moment - it was fucking decent for once!” Crowley sat up in his chair, his hands waving animatedly.  
“What were you talking about?” the blonde asked gently.  
Crowley furrowed his brows. “None of your business,” he huffed. He had, in fact, been talking to Her about he and Aziraphale getting married. He had suspected that both sides wouldn’t like that, but she’d been remarkably affirming. She seemed to allow Aziraphale and Crowley to break certain rules that she would not have allowed otherwise - or at least, things people didn’t think she allowed.  
“So, what happened then?" Aziraphale asked.  
Crowley frowned. "I was talking away, when next thing I knew someone's hand was on the back of my head, shoving me forward. I was on my knees on the floor, and it burned like hell."  
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.  
"Alright, wrong word choice. But it pissed me off, and I was about to do something drastic, when I remembered that we'd promised each other to try to remain as incognito as possible." He took another large swig of wine. "I stood up and told them I didn't want any trouble, but they apparently weren't satisfied with that. Yelled a bunch of shit about being a sodomite and that I didn't deserve to be in God's house."  
"Oh darling -"  
"I was just going to leave when they started on about you. I couldn't let that happen."  
"What did you do?" Aziraphale asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice.  
"I didn't have a chance to do anything. One of them threw a hymn book at me and when I tried to get away, I tripped and fell up against the baby baptismal pool."  
Aziraphale blanched. "Dear lord! You could have been killed!"  
"You don't think I know that?" Crowley yelped. "It scared the shit out of me and I just ran. Like a fucking coward I ran, them yelling abuse after me. The priest was on them in a second, but I didn’t stick around."  
"Dear, it wasn't cowardice," Aziraphale assured. "Just think what might have happened if the Holy Water had gotten onto you!"  
"It would have killed me," Crowley replied. "I had been willing to risk it at one point, but now..." He looked at Aziraphale. "I've something to lose now, Angel."  
Aziraphale's mouth opened slightly. In a moment he was on his knees in front of Crowley, his hands on his knees.  
"Crowley, my dear, you will never lose me."  
"But what if-"  
Aziraphale put this fingers to Crowley's lips.  
"No," he said. "Never. I'd tear down heaven and hell for you."  
Crowley smiled. "In a way, I suppose you already did."  
Aziraphale took the wine bottle from Crowley's hand and put it on the ground. “I have an idea,” he said.  
Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”  
“Have you ever taken a bath?” Aziraphale asked.  
Crowley blinked. “Er, no.”  
Aziraphale smiled. “They’re wonderful!” he said, beaming. “Bubble bath, flowers and bath salts, candles, wine or cocoa, strawberries, and a good book. It’s delightful!”  
Crowley wasn’t sure. “I-”  
“No, no,” Aziraphale said, standing up. “It’s settled. I’m going to make us up the nicest bath!”  
Us? Crowley couldn’t help but notice the word. But didn’t people bathe… naked? He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been naked. He never bothered to change his clothes like other people did. He’d merely wave his hand and he’d be wearing whatever he liked. Despite the fact that they had been living together for 14 years now, Crowley had never seen Aziraphale naked either. The door to the bathroom was usually closed when Aziraphale was having a bath, and when he came in from the bathroom to bed, he was always already in his pajamas. Even after all these years, that form of intimacy was still foreign to them both.  
“I’ll get it ready,” Aziraphale said, looking rather like a happy child. He pottered upstairs, and was going about miracling up the nicest bath known to man. He knew Crowley would not notice that the bath had grown twice it’s normal size. He was never in the bathroom. He didn’t need it, and he wasn’t interested in forms of self care, like baths and facials and foot-soaks, like Aziraphale was.  
“Darling!” he heard Aziraphale call from upstairs. “It’s all ready.”  
Crowley swallowed, and headed upstairs. His mouth opened slightly as he walked in. The entire bathroom was lit with candles, the bath full of bubbles and steaming slightly. It smelled like a garden, lavender, rose, and mint, mingled together was the faint scent of strawberries, which sat on a little tray, along with two full wine glasses, that was connected to the bathtub. He blinked.  
“It’s… lovely,” he said.  
Aziraphale looked rather proud of himself. “Come on then,” he said, beginning to disrobe. Crowley watched, but tried not to be obvious, as Aziraphale first took off his jacket, then his vest, and hung them up on a little peg on the wall. He began to unbutton his shirt, and pulled it out from where it was tucked into his pants, hanging it alongside his other clothes. Aziraphale’s back was covered in faint freckles and soft, curly blonde hair. He looked soft and comfortable. He unbuttoned his pants and slid them off. His buttox was decidedly plump and round. Crowley blinked away as Aziraphale turned around, beaming.  
“You’ve not gotten undressed yet,” he said, disappointed. “You can’t get in the bath like that.”  
Crowley glanced at him. “Wh-what the heaven are you wearing?” he said, looking at Aziraphale with one eyebrow raised.  
Aziraphale looked down. Around his nether region a fig leaf covered him. “Oh!” he laughed. “I forgot!” he brushed it away.  
“What…?” Crowley shook his head.  
“I got the idea from statues and paintings,” he said. “I rather like it.”  
Crowley couldn’t help but grin. “God, I love you!”  
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, smiling. He turned to the bath, and gently lowered himself in. Crowley happened to notice that Aziraphale appeared to have both traditionally masculine genitalia, and traditionally feminine secondary sex characteristics. Of course he did, he thought. Aziraphale appreciated human beauty far too much to stick to one gender.  
Crowley swallowed. He passed his hand over his body, his clothes disappearing. Aziraphale looked up, glancing at Crowley.  
“Oh, you’re lovely dear,” he smiled gently. “Are those -” he looked him up and down, noticing the freckles. “Are those constellations?”  
Crowley nodded.  
“How delightful!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He flushed. “You’re far more beautiful than I ever imagined.”  
“You imagined?” Crowley said, flushing just as deep as his boyfriend.  
“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped, sinking a bit deeper into the bath. “Just a turn of phrase.”  
Crowley could always tell when his angel was lying. And his angel was lying. He didn’t press further though, not wanting to make the situation any more uncomfortable than it already was. He walked over to the edge of the bath and put a finger in. It was just warm enough to be comfortable, but not so warm that it was hot. His feet touched the bottom of the bath and he slowly lowered himself in. It felt so good. The warm, rose-smelling water and lavender scented bubbles enveloped him. He closed his eyes, stretching out his legs slightly and his toes bumped Aziraphale’s.  
“Oh,” he said sitting up slightly. “Sorry.”  
Aziraphale’s feet scooted forward, playfully putting them on top of Crowley’s. Crowley took this as a challenge, and pulled his toes out from under Aziraphale, slapping them back down under the water, pressing Aziraphale’s feet to the tub floor, splashing water everywhere. Aziraphale threw back his head and laughed.  
“Alright, alright,” he said, “I surrender!”  
Crowley grinned. “This is fun!” he said.  
Aziraphale blinked a moment at Crowley.  
“What is it?” the demon asked.  
“Sometimes I wish…”  
“What?”  
“I wish you would grow out your hair again. Then I could braid it for you.”  
“Your wish is my command,” he said, waving a hand full of bubble bath over his head. His red hair curled down from the top of his head to a few inches past his shoulders. Crowley’s curly red hair had gotten Aziraphale from the very first moment they had met. The angel blinked at his demon.  
“May I?” he said.  
Crowley smiled. “Might as well.”  
He turned around so that his back was towards Aziraphale.  
“Scoot back,” Aziraphale instructed. Crowley did, feeling Aziraphale’s legs wrap around him. It was not uncomfortable, it didn’t even feel awkward. It felt comfortable. Safe. He’d never felt safe before he started living with Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s plump but nimble fingers ran through Crowley’s hair, tracing the back of his neck and ears.  
“You’re so beautiful, Crowley,” he hummed. “Would you like me to wash your hair before I braid it?”  
“I don’t need my hair washed, angel,” Crowley protested.  
“I know you don’t need it, but you might want it. It feels very nice. You should try it.”  
Crowley hesitated. “I… I guess so.”  
Aziraphale smiled. “Oh good!” He cupped the warm water and let it pour out over Crowley’s head. The demon had to admit, it was a pleasant sensation. Aziraphale hummed an old tune as he rinsed down Crowley’s hair, then began to shampoo it. He massaged the honey and oat shampoo into Crowley’s scalp. The demon leaning back into the pressure, releasing any tension that was left - which wasn’t much. At last Aziraphale rinsed the shampoo out and began to braid. Crowley took his glass of wine and took a sip. As Aziraphale braided, they chatted. Crowley talked about the litter of kittens one of their neighbors cats had just had; the new shipment of seeds the local greenhouse had just gotten; the new movie that was coming out about David Bowie. Aziraphale told Crowley about the book he was reading; the new recipe he’d found online; the upholsterer who had called back about redoing their sofa. Neither were sure how long they stayed in the bath. They drank and laughed, splashing each other and making beards out of bubbles, but before long, they felt tired, and settled down quietly. Crowley leaned back against Aziraphale, the angel’s arm around him. Crowley was casually twirling the end of one of his braids, while the fingers of his left hand intertwined themselves with Aziraphale’s. They felt at peace.  
It was mid morning when Crowley awoke to the feeling of soft lips kissing his forehead.  
“Hm?” he blinked awake.  
Aziraphale was leaning over him, wrapped in a double breasted Portuguese flannel dressing gown. He didn’t remember relocating from the bath to the bed.  
“How did I?” he started.  
“Oh, I carried you,” Aziraphale blushed. “You looked so peaceful asleep in the bath. I couldn’t bare to wake you up.”  
Crowley looked down at his black mulberry silk pajamas with red detailing.  
“I may have gotten a bit carried away,” Aziraphale admitted. “But I didn’t want you to get cold overnight.”  
Crowley smiled, sitting up. He’d forgotten about his long hair, but as the braids Aziraphale had made the night before fell around his shoulders, a warm rush of comfortable memories flooded into his mind.  
“We’ll have to do that bath thing more often,” he smiled.  
“I’ve made breakfast,” Aziraphale said, “And…” he motioned a hand to a red silk dressing gown with black detailing and a pair of gold embossed evening slippers. Crowley noticed the gold AC across the top of the slippers. He shook his head.  
“What did I ever do to deserve you, Angel,” he said.  
Aziraphale flushed. “Oh don’t be ridiculous. Come down and have breakfast.”  
Crowley followed Aziraphale downstairs, slipping on his dressing gown and slippers. Breakfast was a nice array of pancakes with homemade strawberry and blueberry syrup, despite them both being out of season, with eggs and bacon and fresh tea and coffee. There was a pitcher of milk which never seemed to get warm, no matter how long it sat out, and fresh squeezed orange juice, again, out of season.  
Crowley smiled. “God I’m a lucky bastard.”  
Aziraphale returned the smile. “I suppose then so am I.” He sat a plate of pancakes and bacon and eggs in front of Crowley.  
“That’s not what I’m interested in, just now,” Crowley said.  
Aziraphale looked hurt. “But Crowley-”  
Crowley reached up, took Aziraphale by the collar, and pulled him down. Their lips brushed, and Aziraphale closed his eyes as Crowley kissed him again.  
“Good lord, Crowley,” he said a few moments later. His cheeks and ears had turned bright red, and Crowley grinned mischievously.  
“Now!” said the demon. “I’m hungry.”


End file.
